The Son of Hermes
by Adamus
Summary: -Summary To Come-
1. Dylan: I

**The Son of Hermes**  
**(A PJO FANFICTION)**

(I'm gonna be using this quickly as a writing sample, so... eh)

**_DISCLAIMER: _**_Literally, only VERY FEW characters here are mine. Most of them belong to the lovely people who allowed me to use their OC's, so don't get the idea that I'm the one who created the fantastic bunch._  
_'Cause I'm not. _

_Also! The PJO universe belongs to the great Rick Riordan, a man who puts a good twist on old myths and gods. I didn't create Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter (which, yes! will be making an apperance in this fanfic!) and if I did, I wouldn't be stuck writing fanfictions._  
_Heh._

**RATING: **_Teen _(Though it may feature mature themes at times, depending on  
what you would consider mature. I dunno. There's definitely some words that aren't too kind. If any of you find that offensive, please PM me and I'll change them to nicer ones, okay?)

**A/N: **I posted the first chapter for the original idea of this story, but I remembered that I had a different OC, Dylan, and I decided that I'd like to use HIS story instead.  
Gunnar and Ola are cool and all, but in my opinion Dylan's better. Woo.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE:**  
_My Mom Tries To Kill Me And Nearly Succeeds_

Not many people get to say they've fallen out of a window and lived. Of course, most of the people that _do_ didn't fall from the sixth floor, nor were they pushed by their own mother.

I guess I have a bit of explaining to do.

It was supposed to be a nice family vacation in Kelowna with me, my sister and our parents. We had never had a lot of money, but dad had just gotten his first paycheck since his promotion and hey, why not spend a little bit of the cash? We could afford a fancy trip to a nice hotel for a few days. It was meant to be great.

Mom, however, didn't like everyone having fun.

"Do you really have to get drunk _here_?" I asked, rolling my eyes as I plucked an apple from the fruit basket sitting on the counter. "There's a bar in the lobby. Go have your drinks down there."

My mom looked at me sideways and scowled. "Your dad," she started, holding her wine glass out towards the door. "Is cheating with the cleaning lady. I know it." She hissed, bringing the glass back up to her lips.

I frown and put the apple back with the others. "He's not. He went out shopping with Melissa, remember?" Honest to God, it was like whenever mom got drunk she immediately had the worst assumptions for people. Last week, I was apparently a serial killer who murdered my nana with a sponge.

The creativity in my mother was outrageous.

"He is!" Mom insists, narrowing her eyes. "There were lipstick stains all over his collar this morning."

"Uh... those were from you. At home. We just got here a few hours ago and the cleaning people haven't even come yet."

My mom shoots a glare at me and sets the wine glass aside. "Is he paying you to keep quiet?" She snarls, lifting herself from the couch. "Tell me, how much is your rat mouthed father paying you?"

I take a step towards her and hold out my hands. "Mom." I say, as steadily as I can manage. She always gets aggresive when she's drunk, so I have to be careful. "He's not paying me anything, alright? Go have a nap."

Wrong thing to say.

"I am your _mother_, you listen to me!" She snaps, making her way across the room in my direction. "Don't you dare lie! He's cheating, isn't he?"

"No, he's not!"

"You don't even need to be bribed to cover for him!"

I can see her face growing red and the tears swelling up in her eyes. For a second, I feel kind of sorry for her. Then I remember nothing I'll say will convince her that her relationship with dad is perfectly fine, and that I better move out of the way before she hits me.

I shuffle over to the far wall, infront of the large squared window.

Wrong move to make.

"You can talk to him about it when he gets back, okay?" I suggest, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I wouldn't ever admit it, but at that moment I'm truly scared. "Let's go for a walk to cool off until then."

Mom stops walking. Literally, she just freezes on the spot. Her expression loosens and I can tell that the gears in her head are clicking, and for just a tiny moment I let myself believe that she won't get as worked up as I first thought she would.

Once again, wrong.

Her cheeks go even redder and her grey eyes look like the blades on daggers. She stomps towards me, her left hand raised, and then she mutters "You little bastard"

I don't even have time to get out the single word 'what' before she strikes me across the face.

Once her hand drops to her side, all I can do is stare at her. Our conversation went from me suggesting her to go down the bar to her accusing my father of having an affair, then her getting mad at me for it, all in the time of... what? A minute? Less?

"Un-fucking-believable." I mutter, narrowing my eyes.

Mom keeps her glare and I swear I see lightning flash in those grey stormclouds of hers. "Lying _and_ swearing. You're a little rat too, just like you're father."

"Can you not?" I hiss, making a bold move and pushing her away from me. "It's one thing to get mad, but don't you _ever _touch me again."

I know that she's not exactly 'mom' right now, having gulped down practically an entire boddle of wine and a few shots of vodka from the minibar, but going back to actually hitting me is crossing the 'What I Can Put Up With' line that appears when she's drunk.

Mom isn't too impressed with my actions, just by the look on her face I can tell. But she goes ahead and copies me, pushing me into the window.

"Don't talk to me like that!" Is her defense for slamming me into a thin piece of glass.

I scramble away from it, thankful it didn't break, but then my mom pushes me again, this time even harder. I swear I hear the glass crack. I know that the hotel was built cheap, but it at least has to have windows that don't break whenever a fifteen year old hits them, right?

"Stop." I snarl, trying to mask the fear in my voice. "Seriously, do you know what you're doing?!"

Her face grows a deeper shade of red and the swelling tears spill onto her cheeks. She nods her head at me. "I know." She whispers, then jolts me back and slams me against the window again. "I know."

Fighting back is a bit hard, as whatever I try to move forward my mom just pushes back to the glass. Finally she's had enough and punches the window herself. Having so many cracks, it shatters and her mouth twists into a smile.

"Stop!" I repeat, my eyes widening as my mom snatches my hands and pushes me backwards again. I don't know if it's the alarm in my voice or what, but suddenly she lets go.

"Do you know what he's done?" She utters, wiping the tears from her eyes. "_You_ stop! Stop defending the rat!"

It wasn't the alarm.

Before I can get a word out, my mom shoves her hands into my chest and forces me out the window. It's sudden. Unexpected. The feeling of having nothing for me to land on is horrifying. But at that moment, I hear the front door swing open and hear my dad shout a single name. Mine.

"_Dylan_!"

And it's the last thing I hear before the world grows dark and silent.

* * *

They say that death is a really funny thing. I don't know if that's true or not, as 'they' is my fourth grade teacher and I've never actually experienced death first-hand before. I mean, yeah I've been to funerals and whatnot, but obviously I've never died.

I have an idea of what it feels like, though.

Nothing is happening. I can't hear, can't see, can't move, can't... anything. I'm a vegetable. The world is simply a shitload of darkness that has nothing worth staring at. I know that time goes by, but whether it's seconds or years I have no clue. I feel useless.

It's like that for awhile. During that time, I'm a hundred percent convinced that I'm dead. What else could have been going on? All the Internet said about comas (am I even in a coma?) was that sometimes the person could hear what was happening around them, or that their brain didn't record anything. My brain was recording, at least, but the audio just wasn't picking up.

Then, I hear a clock.

It's nothing to someone who hadn't been deaf for who knows how long, but to me it's as if God sent me a gift. I've never believed in the guy upstairs, but as soon as I can walk again I'm heading straight to the closest holy-whatever and thanking the dude.

It feels so good to have my ears working, I almost forget to count.

Sixty seconds go by... then I get to three minutes. I feel lucky, but quickly the sound of the clock fades and it's back to silence. I know that time goes by whenever it gets quiet, but I feel like it's only a few seconds before I hear the beeping.

You only need to watch a few episodes of those hospital drama shows to know what a heart rate moniter sounds like. If you're oblivious to it, then it sounds like _beep...beep...beep..._ or whatever.

Mine is a bit slower, but it's still comforting to know that my heart hasn't gone dead yet. Once again, guy upstairs, _thank you._

Just like with the clock, I can only focus on the beeping for an hour or so before it fades out and more time slips by me.

It's silent againt for awhile, but occassionally I hear the ticking of the clock or the beeping again. Sometimes I'll hear someone walking by. No one actually talks to me, at least not directly, and it makes me wonder how long I've had my eyes shut. It couldn't be any longer than a few weeks, I think...

Do they think I'm dead? Or is talking to me not worth anyone's time? I could probably hear them if they just _said_ something, but for what feels like days, no one bothers.

Then, the next new noise is voices. A woman is talking to a deep voiced man, a little girl is shrieking somewhere a few meters away. It takes a long time before I can make out any words, even longer for anyone to speak to me directly, but when I hear their voices I feel a pinch of excitement.

Their words make me feel like I just got punched in the face by sadness.

"When do you think he'll wake up?" She asks, her voice sounding heavy and dull. It's not like my sister to ever seem so depressed, but I guess that what happened kind of put a dent in Melissa's happy-go-lucky attitude.

"I dunno... what'd the doctor say to your dad?" It's Charlie, my best friend. Go figure he'd be here, I just wish it hadn't taken ages for him to visit.

Melissa sighs and I hear her shift her feet. "He's not telling me anything." She says, then sniffles her nose. I didn't think that she was crying, but her next set of words make me believe that she is. "_No one's_ telling me anything. I don't even know if there's any brain activity going on, or if..."

"The lights are on but no ones home?" Charlie suggests. It makes me angry that he isn't taking this as hard as Melissa is. My sister sounds like she's in near tears, and my best friend isn't fased at all.

Thanks a lot, bro. At least _pretend_ to be worked up about my situation.

The entire time before their conversation, I've felt the same. Now, I'm feeling... awake? Not really _awake _awake, but a bit like the feeling you get just before you wake up from a dream.

Out of curiousity, I try to get my fingers or toes to move to show both of them that I can hear what they're saying. No surprise when it doesn't work, but then I feel the need to try harder.

If my brain isn't going to cooperate, then I'll _make_ it cooperate, yeah? Yeah.

I go for something bigger, like my arm, and will it to move. Not having control of my body but still attempting to force it to work with me is definitely hard, but despite the obvious lack of signals being sent, I keep trying anyway.

It takes only about a minute before I feel a spasm.

For a short second I let myself get excited again and I think that I've willingly moved my hand. Except, I wasn't trying to move my hand. Nor was I putting my focus on the right side of my body. Huh.

The spasm slowly makes it's way up my arm and spreads into my chest, then climbs over to my other arm and down to my legs. There's no other way to explain it other than 'someone pulled the panic alarm in my head and now my body's freaking out' without using any of those sciency words that I don't know.

If this is how everyone wakes up from going out, I feel sorry for them.

"What the hell-" Charlie exclaims, now just beginning to notice my little movements. I want to scream at him to go get the doctor, but obviously my hands are tied here and I still can't do shit.

Melissa begins to speak, except unlike with Charlie I can't make out what she's saying anymore. Her voice is fuzzy, like a big blur but with sounds, and then finally everything I hear is drowned out all together.

When I open my eyes, I can barely remember what happened.

**END OF CHAPTER ONE**


	2. Dylan: II

**The Son of Hermes**  
**(A PJO FANFICTION)**  
_DISCLAIMER: Literally, only VERY FEW characters here are mine. Most of them belong to the lovely people who allowed me to use their OC's, so don't get the idea that I'm the one who created the fantastic bunch._  
_'Cause I'm not. _

_Also! The PJO universe belongs to the great Rick Riordan, a man who puts a good twist on old myths and gods. I didn't create Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter (which, yes! will be making an apperance in this fanfic!) and if I did, I wouldn't be stuck writing fanfictions._  
_Heh._

**RATING: **_Teen _(though it may feature mature themes at times, depending on  
what you would consider mature. I dunno)

**A/N: **Chapter three will be Dylan's last chapter before it's his turn again, so not to worry! Your OC's will be introduced soon enough, and Dylan's gonna get his butt out of the hospital.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO:**  
_A Wacko Makes Me Promise_

"Dylan? Look at me, Dylan." A deep voiced man says to me. I recognize his voice from earlier, but obviously his face is new.

You know, 'cause my eyes were closed and all that fun stuff.

He's darker skinned, with a shiny bald head and a small bit of stubble on his face. He'd probably look like a male model if he grew it out a little more, but because it'd be weird and definitely creepy, I don't give him the advice.

My first thought (because thinking a male doctor would be a hot model isn't what I want to admit as the first thing going through my brain) is that I'm really, really tired. My head feels heavy and I'm in the mood for nap, maybe with a cold glass of orange juice before I put my head down. When I look around, though, I realize neither of those things are going to happen.

"Dylan?" The doctor says, furrowing his eyebrows. "Are you alright?"

I glance over at the white hospital bedsheets covering my legs, then turn my head to face the doctor. I should probably say something like 'yeah man, I'm fine!' or 'totally okay' but instead my words come out as "I thought I was riding a camel"

Way to go, me. Good way to look like you're not a freak.

The doctor chuckles and stands up, which is what makes me realize he had been crouching beside the bed. Honestly, I had just assumed he was super short.

"How fun." He says, taking a clipboard off of a rolling food tray and scribbles something down on the paper. "You made quite an entrance back into the living. Do you remember the past few minutes?"

I squint my eyes and shake my head.

Doc nods and scribbles another thing down. "That's normal..." He remarks, keeping the words under his breath. "Do you know what the date is?"

Oh, good. A question I won't sound stupid answering.

"It's... uh, March fourteenth."

"And the year?"

"Twenty fourteen."

Doc nods again, but his face doesn't tell me that I got the date right. What else could it be, though? It's not like it's June of twenty eighty-four or anything.

He lets out a soft sigh and nods to the calender on hanging on the wall. "Good thing you know the year, but it's actually April twelth."

My eyes widen and I stare at the black X marks on the days leading up to the current date. That's not right. Just this morning I woke up and it was March fourteenth. Spring break started that day. Me and my family drove to Kelowna and booked a room in a hotel. There's no way it's April already. It can't...

It can't.

Doc must have noticed me counting the days in my head, because he manages a slight smile and gives me a look of sympathy. "Twenty-nine days is a long time, isn't it?"

No shit it is, Captain Obvious.

My head is spinning. How could I have been out for _twenty-nine days_? Why isn't there a huge news crew in the room with me right now? I mean, that's practically a whole month! I should be on the face of every news paper in B.C, known as the boy who slept like a log.

... I don't even know what happened to make me go out.

"How-" I start to ask, but Doc cuts me off.

"You should try relaxing right now, Dylan." He says, sounding all official-like. I want to flip him off and tell him I've had enough rest already, but the tiny voice of reason in my head argues it's a bad idea.

I know that it's right, but I also know that I'd feel a lot better if I had some answers to match my questions. Still, before I can babble on about how I deserve to know, Doc continues speaking.

"I have to notify your father before I can fully explain everything to you. So please just hold tight for a few hours until he comes in, and then after the brain scan we'll talk." Doc says, heading towards the door.

"You're just gonna leave me here by myself?" I call out to him, questioning where he got his licence to be a doctor. If someone was unconsious for nearly a month, I don't think it's a safe decision to leave them in a room without supervision.

Doc laughs and shakes his head. "No, no. Nurse Kim will be with you in a minute."

With that, he leaves.

I roll my eyes and prop myself up in the bed, trying to remember what happened to me. All that comes up is clocks, but unless I got hit over the head with one, it's not all that useful. Seriously, this 'I don't remember anything' sucks.

Not even ten seconds pass after that and a short, slightly chubby Chinese lady enters the room with a clipboard in hands and makes her way over to me.

"Dylan... uh, Hoflane?" She says, pronouncing my last name wrong.

"Hoftlan." I correct automatically, hoping that I'm not sounding like a prick.

Nurse Kim nods quickly and writes down a note on the paper, then looks up at me and beams.

"So!" She says, putting the clipboard on the roller food tray. "How are you feeling?"

I lower an eyebrow and manage a chuckle. "Like I got ran over by a car." I joke, though maybe there's a small bit of truth to it.

Nurse Kim smiles and shrugs. "Well, you _did_ hit one pretty hard. Left a big dent right on the hood! Ouch."

The humor leaves me and I feel my jaw drop. "...Uh, what?"

The smile falls from her face and Kim directs her eyes over to the paper on the clipboard. "Oh, it says here that you..." She pauses, glances at me quickly, then continues on saying "..._fell_ from the Resort Hotel in Kelowna and landed on the managers vehicle. He's not sueing for any of the damage, though, so not to worry!"

I can tell by the tone of her voice that she's trying to keep things light, but with the new news that I _fell from a fucking hotel and landed on a car_ is just a tad bit unsettling. Instead of fixing my problem, now I have a million more questions.

How did I just 'fall'? Where from? Why did no one say 'Hey! That kid's falling, let's save him!'?

If I intentionally jumped... oh my god.

Kim sees the worry on my face and quickly tries to calm me down. I think. Or she's trying to make my worry get worse. "Oh! But hey, it's okay! Your mom, she's in court with your dad right now. Seeing as she pushed you... eek, your dad'll definitely get custody and moms going to jail."

At this point, I'm confused whether or not Nurse Kim is an actual, registered nurse who ligitemantly works for the hospital. If she's doing anything, it's definitely not making me feel better.

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ you're lucky to be alive, kiddo! What'd you dream about while you were out? Lots of times people report seeing flying shoes..." Kim says enthusiastically, her eyes staring right at me. A wicked smile appears on her face, and this time I really don't think she's actually a nurse.

"I dont-"

Kim leans in closer, her once cheery face now looking dark and menacing. "What's your secret, kiddo? Did your dad swoop in and save your fall? There's no way anyone could have survived that stunt without the luck of a god." She hisses, her creepy smile twisting into a sneer. "Is it Zeus?"

I feel my heart racing in my chest. This woman is an off the bat lunatic.

She wasn't trying to calm me down earlier, she was trying to get me scared. Honestly, I don't know what the hell it is with this hospital, but I want _out_.

"You're a tad bit close to comfort, Kim." I say, pushing the nurse away from me. A look of confusion spreads across her face, and then she breaks out into a fit of laughter.

I wish I knew what was so funny.

"Oh, I'm not Kim!" She squeals, wiping tears from her eyes. "Gah! You newbies are just _so_ gullible! Hades could be dressed as Hera and you'd believe he was the queen of the gods, wouldn't you?" The woman taunts, certainly getting a kick out of this.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded, clenching my hands into fists.

She see's this, and quickly she calms down. "Don't get mad, hero boy. You little head has had enough trauma, don't you think? It'd be a shame if another seizu-"

"Who are you?" Another woman's voice interrupts.

I glance over the lunatic's shoulders and see a tall lady with pinned back brown hair, and green eyes fixed right onto Wacko Loony.

Squinting to see her name-tag, I feel a rush of relief when I read 'Kim Lahey'.

I've never been so happy in my life.

"Get this freak away from me!" I tell her, scooting over to the other side of the hospital bed. Even if it's just a few extra inches, it feels good to be further away from the lady who laughs at the idea of Hades dressing in drag.

Kim scowls, nods, and marches right up to the wacko and forces her away from the bed.

"You don't work here." She says, matter of factly. "How'd you get access to this floor of the building?"

Wacko gives another wicked smile before taking a long, slow step back. In that moment, it's as if the entire world freezes. The clock stops ticking, there's no more subtle beeping, the only two things moving are me and Wacko.

She looks directly at me and the smile falls into a slight smirk. "The gods and their children are fighting yet again, hero boy." She hisses, her voice resembling the sound a snake makes. "The god of the dead wishes you to join him in the Underworld, but the others... they would rather have you alive."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I snap, narrowing my eyes.

She ignores me and keeps talking. "There is a war, Hoftlan." She snarls, creeping closer to me. "You will end it, and that is not what I want."

Once again I feel my heart racing in my chest. If there was a measure for freakiness, this whole scene going on would break the scale.

"What _do_ you want?"

"Your death would be the kindest gift to give." Wacko muses, but she shakes her head, dismissing it. "But unfortunetly it seems you are more protected than I thought. Since that is the case, you must promise something to me."

I nod. Promises don't mean anything. Hell, they're _meant _to broken. If making one is what it takes for Wacko leave me alone, I'm in.

"Sure."

Wacko chuckles, like she's part of a secret that's being kept from me, then straightens her face and glares. "Swear on the River Styx that you will never fight against the gods."

"Okay."

"_Say_ it."

I take in a sigh. "I swear on the... uh, River Styx, that I won't fight against the gods."

As I say it, the only thing I can imagine are Buddha and Horus flying at me with swords in their hands, and the thought makes me laugh.

Wacko nods and backs away. "Congradulations, hero boy." She sneers, glancing over at nurse Kim. "You've just tipped the scales."

* * *

I wish I could say that after my darling conversation with the obvious insane asylm escapee, I totally _didn't_ pass out.

... But I did.

Having doctors all around me when I wake up isn't something that settles the nerves, but right off the bat I try to tell them what happened.

"Someone broke into the hospital." I blurt out, just as someone pokes an IV needle in my arm. Everyone but nurse Kim ignores me, and even then she only gives me a polite smile.

"You were there!" I shout at her, using the arm that doesn't have a tube hooked up to it to point at her. "You saw!"

One doctor glances over in her direction, but quickly she explains that when she entered the room no one was there but me, and I was passed out.

I try to sit up but a pair of hands keeps me down. This isn't fair. No one's listening to a word I'm trying to tell them, but still they're trying to figure out what happened _as I'm explaining_.

Adults are stupid.

"The woman who broke in, she froze time." I insist, which earns me a set of concerned looks from the faces around me. My "I'm serious" probably doesn't help them believe me.

"When will the MRI be ready?" The lady who attatched me to the IV asks. Her face lacks expression, but I can tell from her tone that she thinks I'm a nutjob.

"It's another hour wait." A man replies.

Everyone stays for a good twenty minutes after that before they begin to file out and leave. Once again I'm told that nurse Kim will be watching me, but soon enough she dismisses herself and slips out into the hall.

This really is a terrible hospital.

**END OF CHAPTER TWO**


	3. Dylan: III

**The Son of Hermes**  
**(A PJO FANFICTION)**  
_**DISCLAIMER:** Lewis and Natasha are not my own characters!_  
_Lewis belongs to james9_  
_Natasha belongs to CyanoticNightmare.__  
_

_Also! The PJO universe belongs to Rick Riordan, a man who puts a good twist on old myths and gods. I didn't create Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter, and if I did, I wouldn't be stuck writing fanfictions._  
_Heh._

**RATING: **_Teen _(though it may feature mature themes at times, depending on  
what you would consider mature. I dunno)

**A/N: **Woah, wow. This chapter turned out to be a lot longer than I expected.  
Whoops.

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE:**  
_Free Pegasus Rides and the Delusional Goat Boy_

Three days in a hospital is a long time, especially for a guy like me. I like to keep myself moving, my mind busy. Not... well, not stuck in one place and barely allowed to move.

One night I started coughing because I choked on my own spit, and like, five nurses came rushing in telling me not to move my neck. It's unbelievable.

Still, I'm happy to announce that no other occassions like Wacko happened during my stay. There was no time freezing, no making weird promises, nothing too loco aside from the jello I had to eat (it was really gross). For the first time, I actually didn't mind being forced to stay there, even though I was beginning to feel fine again.

Then, I discovered my best friend could easily become a cat-burglar.

* * *

I hear the door to the room creak open, but assuming that it's just because of a draft, I keep my eyes shut. Even if it's not because of air movements, what do I have to worry about? No one's gonna hurt a sleeping kid.

Footsteps walk across the tile flooring, and it'd be a lie if I said that at this point I wasn't feeling slightly uneasy. Last time I looked at the clock, it was ten at night. No one aside from the staff has a reason to be awake, and I don't share a room with other patients.

"Hello?" I call out, like all the idiots do in the movies. You'd think that a guy who's a fan of the horror genre would be more careful, but apparently not. I just played the _please come kill me, murderer_ card.

"Dill?" A voice replies. It's barely a whisper, but automatically I know who it is.

"What the hell are you doing here, Charlie?" I hiss, sitting up in my bed.

In the darkness, I can barely see his mat of curly brown hair move across the room as he crawls on the floor. I don't know where he learned his stealth techniques, but obviously the instructor told him to 'look like a weird baby' or something along those lines.

"Rescuing you." Charlie says, though his tone makes me feel like it should have been obvious. "Come on, man. Get up. We gotta go."

I narrow my eyes but push the blankets off. "Uh... where, exactly?"

Charlie pauses for a second, like he's debating whether to tell me or not. He gives me a questionable look, but eventually he goes "New York, Long Island"

That makes me think. Is he crazy? It's bad enough that he found his way into the hospital (which I should probably ask about), but planning on taking me to New York, a place in a whole different _country_, is kind of pushing it.

"You're out of your mind."

"I know, I know. Just come on, okay? I've already gotten a ride."

"_Who_?"

Charlie grins at me. With hardly any light, he looks creepy as fuck. If we were outside or in my living room, he'd look like the kid who helped me drench Wendy Loak with water balloons last summer.

"You'll see." Is the only explanation he gives.

I roll my eyes and fold my arms over my chest. "Alright, so at least tell me this. _How_ exactly is it that you got in here?"

Charlie sighs and digs out a set of keys from his coat pocket. "Ta-da. Now hurry up, she's almost here." Well, that explains it. He stole the keys.

"The nurse? Nah. She's probably sleeping by now."

I know that the guy really wants me to go with him, but to me it feels too much like a 'running away romantically together' thing than a best friend rescue. I mean, _New York_? Why else would we go there if he hadn't already purchased an apartment for us to live in?

Jeez, man. The kid doesn't understand how friendship works.

"Listen to me, Dylan." Charlie says, his expression showing me that he's dead serious. I've never seen him look this way before, and to be honest it kind of worries me. "The nurse isn't coming. You're mom is, alright? We have to go."

I scowl. "My _mom_?" Assuming that the wacko from earlier was lying, there's no reason to be afraid of my own mother. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"Well, it is. She found out that you're alive yesterday and now she's coming to... finish the job. " Charlie explains, but really he's not leaving me with many answers here.

The lady... she couldn't have been telling the truth. Mom in court, me falling. I was hardly able to sleep because I had been trying to piece together what had happened.

Mom hated me sometimes, sure, but she'd never try to _kill_ me.

Charlie must have guessed what I was thinking, because quickly he slips in the words "It's not really her"

I stare stupidly at him. "What do you mean?"

"An Eidolon, Doppelgänger, Vardøger, whatever. I don't know how they work, Dylan, but I promise it wasn't your mother who... you know."

Actually, I _don't_ know. Not fully, anyway. But I keep my mouth shut and choose not to point this out. If laid back, never caring about anyone Charlie, is actually _worried_ for once, I should believe him. I mean, hey. It's a fifty fifty chance here. He's either telling the truth, or he's on drugs. Either way I might as well do what he says.

"Alright."

"...what?"

"I said, alright. Now let's get moving before I change my mind."

* * *

Before I explain the magical chariot being pulled by a winged horse, I should probably squeeze in that my best friend is half goat. It sounds weird, I know, and it's still registering in my mind, too. I mean, I only found out in the elevator when he ripped off his pants and kicks away his shoes.

"What the hell are those?!" I shriek, my voice sounding a lot more feminine than I'd like it to. "God, man! You need to wax those things!"

Charlie gives me a bored look. "I'd look disgusting if I did."

"You look disgusting now!" I groan, shielding my eyes. "Seriously dude, what's the deal? Don't just pull down your pants and flaunt your freaky-ass ape legs in my face!" I say, not even mentioning the fact that he doesn't have actual feet, either.

What. The. Hell.

My best friend is a mutant.

"Calm down, alright? I'll explain later." Charlie tells me, but I have a feeling that 'later' translates to 'sometime whenever, not really planning to'.

"You have goat legs. I kind of want that explained _right now_."

"We don't have time!" Charlie hisses, his voice sounding even more urgent than before. I'm probably just high on morphine or something, but this whole situation is severely messed up.

Still, I guess I might as well go along with it. I'm such an idiot.

The elevator doors slide open, and with a sudden panic I shoot a glance at Goat-Boy. "How do you plan on getting past the staff?" A guy in a hospital gown and another with furry legs won't exactly go unnoticed.

Charlie gives me a smirk. "Lewis already took care of them."

My eyes widen in surprise. "'_Took care_'? You mean, like _kill_?" Exterminators 'take care' of animals. If this Lewis guy just so happens to have the same definition... at least it'll make a good news report.

"Who the hell is Lewis, anyway? Some kind of vampire pig or something?"

"That's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard you say." Charlie laughs, walking out into the hallway. "And no, he's not a vampire pig and certainly _didn't _kill anyone. I don't think so, anyway. We've got morals."

I snort. "Morals, right. Your parents obviously didn't." That last part was more of a hushed mutter more than anything else. I don't want a weird goat kid kicking my ass for insulting his folks.

Charlie looks back at me. Once again the lightness is stripped from his face and he looks like he's all business, no play. "Listen, I promise I'll explain once we get out of here."

"Whatever, man."

* * *

Charlie wasn't a very good explain-er. Why was that doctor hanging upside down? _It was necessary._ Who's gonna get him down? _I don't know. _Is there seriously a need for everyone to be knocked out? _The Mist hasn't been very reliable lately, so yes._

Alright, alright. Now if I just knew _why_ hanging people by their feet is necessary, or what the hell this 'mist' thing means, then we'd be good.

Charlie? He thinks leaving me clueless is a perfect way to leave me.

Like, help me out man. At _least_ tell me why there's two golden chariots and horses with wings sitting out in the parking lot, _please_?

"I'm dead, aren't I?" I ask, though honestly it's not much of a question. "Wacko killed me."

Charlie gives me a confused look, but shakes his head and walks over to the chariot, shining brightly in the moonlight.

From inside the closer chariot, the guy holding the reins gives me a disapproving scowl. "That's the guy we came here for?" He says flatly, not sounding very impressed. I know that I'm not exactly Mr. Muscles, but the dude doesn't have to make me self-conscious about it.

The redheaded girl beside him whacks him on the arm. "Don't be rude." She snaps, then tosses me an apologetic smile.

She seems nice. Already, I like her a million times better than the pouty faced guy.

Charlie lets out an impatient sigh, then makes the 'zip it' gesture. "Both of you, shut up." He says, then swings his arms towards me. "Lewis, Natasha, meet Dylan. Dylan, meet Lewis and Natasha. They volunteered to help me save your butt, so say thanks."

For a few seconds I can only stare at them in awe. _Is _this a dream? It feels pretty real, despite the winged horse biting at one of it's wings.

"Uh... thanks." Is all I can spit out.

"We lost David for this guy?" Lewis asks, his green eyes burning like... I don't know. Leaves on fire? Whatever. He doesn't look too happy is what I'm trying to say. "We came all this way for some short-stack with his butt hanging out?"

Oh, shit. The hospital gown doesn't cover my backside.

Natasha frowns at him. "David made that choice on his own. It's not Dylan's fault."

Before I can ask about anything, Charlie puts a hand on my shoulder and leads me to the second chariot. He doesn't say a word, but even through the silence I can tell that Lewis isn't the only one upset about the loss of David. Sorry, presumably dead-man. You were probably a great guy.

"So! Uh, how do I drive this thing?" I ask, forcing myself to try and sound excited. To my knowledge, chariots don't fly. However, the fact that the horses pulling it _can_, I guess I'm about to be proven wrong.

Charlie's expression loosens a little, and he snatches the reins from me just as I reach for them. "Dude, do you know how many people would kill me if I let a newbie like you fly this?"

"...uh." No. Not a clue.

"Just enjoy the ride, and keep your mouth shut so you don't accidentally eat any bugs."

**END OF CHAPTER THREE**


	4. Cyrus: IV

**The Son of Hermes**  
**(A PJO FANFICTION)**  
_DISCLAIMER: Before I start, I'd like to say that Cyrus is not my character! He belongs to the lovely Princess of Flames._

_Also! The PJO universe belongs to Rick Riordan, a man who puts a good twist on old myths and gods. I didn't create Camp Half-Blood or Camp Jupiter, and if I did, I wouldn't be stuck writing fanfictions._  
_Heh._

**RATING: **_Teen _(though it may feature mature themes at times, depending on  
what you would consider mature. I dunno)

**A/N: **Psst, Cyrus is here!

Cyrus belongs to Princess of Flames.  
Natasha belongs to CyanoticNightmare  
Lewis belongs to james9  
Ethan belongs to Demigod Ethan  
and Dylan + Lillian belong to me!

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR:**  
_The Idiotic Newbie Arrives. . . Hooray._

Lot's of things can be troublesome. Drakons appearing in in the forest, devouring squirrels and hitting their heads on metal scraps? Pretty annoying, yeah. An increase in Harpy attacks? Also annoying. Hellhounds sneaking into the camp? Definitly a problem, but manageable.

Those three things all happening _at once_? Obviously a camper managed to piss off the gods, but still able to be dealt with, however.

Now, when the gates to Olympus close, demigods stop having their usual demigod dreams, and the two camp directors go missing _plus _all what was stated above, _then _we have a real issue.

How am I involved? Well, I'm one of the campers. A demigod. Son of Zeus, and only member of Cabin One. Being the only known kid of one of the Big Three. . . well, it comes with its own responsibilities, most of which aren't half bad. When trouble comes around and the two 'Go To' guys are absent, people tend to look to _me_ for instructions on what to do. The whole Responsable and Leaderly Suit isn't as fun as people make it up to be, but I guess it's part of the _Your Dad is the King of the Gods!_ deal I've got going on.

Yeah. It's not very great.

Sometimes you just have to suck it up and put on a brave face. Mostly because if you don't, then the guys who can't think for themselves will end up walking straight off a cliff.

"Go away." I yawn, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as the lights in my cabin are flicked on. I don't know who thinks it's okay to intrude, but obviously they haven't heard of boundries. I'm the son of Zeus. As crappy of a dad as he may be, I deserve special treatment when it comes to my sleeping.

Also, it's called _knocking_. No one should just waltz into someone's bedroom without letting them know they're coming in.

"Sorry, Cyrus, but this is _kinda _pretty important." The intruder says back, and at once I recognize their voice.

Natasha Ann Scott, daughter of Demeter, stays in Cabin Four. She went out yesterday afternoon with Lewis and David to retrieve a demigod that one of the camp satyr's found, and apparently wasted no time getting back. Good for them. It's nice when people aren't lazy with their duties.

"You do realize it's three in the morning, don't you?" I tell her, keeping my voice flat. "Can't it wait until later?"

Man, I'm such a hypocrite.

Natasha grins and shakes her head. "Nope."

I frown. "The demigod... it's not a child of Poseidon or Hades, is it?" I wouldn't be jealous or anything, heck, I'd _love _to share some spotlight; distance myself from being known as the kid who's dad is the Big Guy, but if another kid of the Big Three were to show up so informally. . . Zeus would give Hera my head as an apology present.

I don't know about anyone else, but I like having my head attached to the rest of me.

The daughter of Demeter rolls her eyes. "Just come on, will you? _Please. _Charlie says he's got a good feeling about this one."

"He said that about the Aphrodite girl, too." And _she _got eaten by one of the Harpies. Trusting Charlie's judgement was always a bad choice. The kid was hardly ever right, and most of the demigods he predicted as 'special' ended up getting the short end of the stick.

I feel bad for them, and at the same time I wonder if Charlie accidently curses whoever he sees as promising. He's always been an unfortunate satyr.

Natasha sighs and turns around, ready to walk out. "What happened to Chassidy and the others doesn't mean it'll happen to this guy, too." Is all she says before she leaves the cabin.

Great, thank-you. All that information was completely unhelpful, now causing me to want to go and see what the fuss is about.

For the love of the gods, I hate my job. I could _at the very least_ get paid in buckets of cupcakes or maybe a few drachmas.

* * *

When four campers go out and four campers (including the new guy) come back, it should have been obvious on what happened to the one missing.

Unfortunately, I had to ask a friend on why the returning group looked as if they were one short.

Ethan stares at me in surprise, and I see his shoulders fall. "Natasha was supposed to tell you." He says quietly, then switches emotions and folds his arms over his chest before letting out an irritated sigh. "Shit, Cyrus. I hate to be the bringer of bad news here, but apparently David went down before they even got into Canada."

I have to let my brain register that for a few seconds. "...Went down?"

"_Dead_, man. Lewis says he took a Cyclops head on, but-"

"Did they retrieve the body?"

Ethan shoots me a look of disgust. "Ew! No! Who the Hades would cut up a Cyclops stomach just to get a _body_? Geez, man. The kid's probably digested and out the other end by now."

Now that it's registered in my head, I have to actually process it.

David was a son of Ares, so of course there was no way he'd go out without a fight, but eaten by a Cyclops. . . even for someone as hard-headed as him, it was weird. Unfortunate, of course, but usually the guy used what little of his brain he still had.

"The new kid, is he worth it?" David had been one of the camp's best fighters, if the newbie turned out to be a total suck. . . well, it'd be a big loss on our part.

Ethan just rolls his eyes and shruggs. "I dunno, he can only tell Charlie to put some pants on, from the looks of it. Go and check him out for yourself." And with that, he left.

No one was very helpful around here, it seemed.

I force myself through the crowd, but the moment I break through it I feel disappointment well up in my chest. This kid. . . this kid isn't anything special. Chiron always said not to judge anyone by their looks, but some things are just straightforward and obvious.

We lost a good fighter like David and replaced him with a runt.

The kid looks at me, his brown eyes looking somewhat wild. "Are you the leader?" He demands, jabbing a finger at me. "Who the hell are you people? Why the hell was I kidnapped and taken to a. . ." He trails off, looking around in complete dispair. "A summer camp! You guys took me to a _summer camp_?!" He snarls, turning towards Charlie. "You could have just _asked _if I wanted to come! Not drag me out of the goddamn hospita-"

"Dylan." Lewis says, making me realize he's standing right beside the kid. "We already explained all this to you, so would you mind keeping your voice down? Some campers are still sleeping and there's a noise volume rule here."

Dylan's face goes red, but he pipes it down and stops complaining.

Alright. My time to shine.

"Welcome to Camp Half-Blood" Is all I can get out before the newbie, Dylan, rips off the white paper bracelet on his wrist and throws it at me.

He's short, he's lanky, looks as if he couldn't even lift a bag of flour, and clearly he doesn't use his head.

"I don't care _what _this place is called!" He half shouts. Beside him, Lewis rolls his eyes. "I'm a freaking illegal immigrant, do you know that? I don't even have a passport, and here I am in the grand ol' USA visiting some. . . some freakshow that has flying horses! Take. Me. Home."

I shoot a cold look at Charlie, and in response he just gives me a nervous smile.

"He was a lot calmer a few hours ago. . ." Is his only excuse.

I force myself to not look too annoyed, then I clear my throat. "It'd be too dangerous to send you back, Dylan. This is one the two only safe places for our kind, and I doubt you'd enjoy it very much at the other camp. . ."

Dylan only stares back at me. His face is completely expressionless, but I get the feeling that the kid is one poorly phrased explaination from blowing up all over the place.

"I got out of a coma four days ago." He tells me, completely deadpan. "A cute little summer camp _probably _isn't the safest place for me right now. Maybe I'll come back in June."

For the first time in the past few minutes, I notice that Dylan is wearing nothing but a hospital gown that probably doesn't cover anything in the back. The fact that Charlie even managed to get him out of such a heavily guarded place. . . well, it's both idiotic and actually impressive. Obviously there was a reason the kid had been in there, apparetly resulting in a coma, whatever made Charlie feel like he had to get out of there must have been fairly urgent.

The again, Charlie wasn't the smartest satyr in the world, so maybe there wasn't any reason at all.

I'll have to ask him later.

"Lillian," I call. "Get Dylan a change of clothes. He'll meet you in the infirmery soon."

Quickly the daughter of Apollo nods and scurries off towards the Big House.

I turn my attention back to Dylan. "Unfortunately there's not much we can do other than try to make you feel at home." I explain, shrugging. "Bringing you back to wherever you started off would be too dangerous, and we've already lost a man whilst dragging your butt out here. Sorry, Dylan, but you're staying."

Dylan scowls, but doesn't complain (thank the gods). "Fine." He mutters, rolling his eyes. "But my parents are going to get the authorties involved once they find out I'm missing, so I hope you'll be happy handling this in court."

_Parents_ comes off as a bit odd to me, but obviously one of them just didn't have the heart to explain that the other wasn't biological. As for the threat of pressing charges. . . no one's going to search for him at the Delphi Strawberry Service in Long Island, New York. We've got great volunteers, make fast deliveries, but certainly not some missing kid.

"Have fun with that." I say, shooting a smile at him. "Lewis, can you bring him to the Big House?"

**END OF CHAPTER FOUR**


End file.
